Tron: Connection
by miss-cold
Summary: As Sam steps onto the Grid to find his father, he spares a thought for Alan. Alan glances up at the old Arcade and remembers. Flynn regrets. Lives link, emotions flow, events connect each player. contains: spoilers, slash SamxAlan, FlynnxTron RE-LOADED
1. Chapter 1

_**EDITED & Re-Loaded **__  
_

A/N: Weaving a bit of original Tron 1982, Tron2.0 (which I haven't played and only use to reference and acknowledge Alan's son) and Tron: Legacy together to create this. All other A/N notes will be at the bottom of chapters. Please enjoy!

(Question: why is there not more Tron slash? If you have any please send me a link I'd love to read it!)

Warning: *Contains SPOILERS* slash – developing relationships between men

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or worlds

_-x-x-_

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Tron: Connection – Chapter 01

_-x-_

Sam catches his breath.

The air is sharp, clean, sparking in his mouth.

The world is quiet; no sound of traffic, but there's a hum pulsing beneath his feet. He's never felt it before.

Running out of Flynn's arcade, the world is black around him, illuminated by threads of neon light.

"This can't be happening." His words fall flat in the strange environment, and he's moving before any of this registers. His only thought is that Allan will never believe this, that everything his dad told him was true. He hopes the older man won't worry when he arrives at the empty arcade back in the real world.

The thought stops him, pausing, he contemplates going back. He wants to share this new discovery with the older man, explore this new world with him. Tell him he was right. Right about everything.

Red lights descend from the sky and his thoughts are pushed back.

Need throbs through him, or is it the low rumble of the machine vibrating through him where he stands?

He has to find his dad.

Knows he's still alive, waiting for him to come.

_-x-x-x-_

Allan sighs, runs a hand through his white hair, takes off his glasses and rubs his tired eyes.

He's tried his best with Sam, after his mother died he was there to support Flynn and the small boy. Even through Flynn's persistent taunts of 'program', the man's erratic moods and the just plain weird looks he received after Flynn's regular short-term disappearances, he stuck around. Shielding, protecting the boy became the purpose of his life and after Flynn disappeared with no sign of coming back he became the shoulder to cry on, the surrogate dad.

Sam's taunting words of earlier that night coming back to him. He lets out a bemused chuckle.

He's given his life to that boy.

Staring at the empty arcade he watches the neon lights flicker from inside, escaping between broken cracks in the boarded-up windows and casting vibrant patterns against the damp pavement. The loud music booms, muffled by the closed doors and echoes eerily in the empty street.

The sign is dark, but with the help of the dim street lights he can make out the word FLYNN'S.

That man had asked and he had bent over backwards to please him. It was strange; he had fought so hard to get Lora, fought hard to keep her and her mind off Flynn. But when it had all slotted into place, when she had put her hand in his, had smiled up at him and seen only him and not Flynn, he hadn't wanted her any more. She'd taken him to Flynn's arcade that first night, the three of them had sat close conspiring against Dillinger and the MCP. So close he could feel the warmth seeping through Flynn's jeans, their thighs touching - of course Lora had been sitting just as close on the other side of Flynn, so he had tried not to make too big a deal of it. But the energy sparking off the man's skin, the energetic wave of hands as he spoke, his twisted grin as he retold his story, gaze caught, watching Alan's reactions. In those eyes he'd seen the intelligence, the sharp wit that had earned the man the title of the best programmer Encom ever saw.

He'd been drawn in by his personality, his charm, that grin and Lora had seen it and let go without a struggle. He hadn't noticed as she distanced herself, he'd been too preoccupied with Flynn's first disappearance and the sudden revelation of the man's genius. Even after the birth of his son, he still spent most of his time with Flynn, and after Lora's death, it had been too late to fix anything.

He had lost himself, devoting all he had to give to a crazy, wild and amazing man, and nothing else mattered. It had been signed and sealed when Flynn had returned from his first disappearance and greeted both he and Lora with open arms. Alan had become a welcomed member of the board, head of security while bonus after bonus rained down on him as he continued to develop TRON.

Alan chuckled darkly to himself at the memory. Flynn had swept him of his feet, he'd fallen for his wife's ex-boyfriend, smitten by the man's charm, by the quick, unexpected attention suddenly showered on him. He'd been unable to retaliate against all that unleashed energy, developing a solid crush on his new friend, but Flynn's interest wasn't directed at him, but at his pet project. Tron.

Only once had he ever come close to revealing his feelings to the other man. They'd been drinking, having a late night in the chairman's office as usual and arguing over programs and the possibility of AI and its development in the near future. The conversation had run its natural course and they were both leaning in close, lost in their own thoughts and he'd looked up just in time to catch a slew of emotions running across Flynn's face.

"You're not wearing your glasses." The voice had trembled and Flynn was inspecting his face with an openness Alan had never seen.

"Ah, no, I've started wearing contacts." He'd almost shied away from the staring, but a sudden flash of remorse crossed Flynn's face.

"You look... you look..." The other man had struggled with the words. Dropping his eyes to his hands hanging between his legs. "I'm getting married to Jordan Canas. I mean I proposed, and she said yes." It sounded more like a confused confession than a happy announcement and before Alan could comment, Flynn was on his feet moving slowly to the other side of the room.

"I need you to wear your glasses from now on." He'd tossed the command over his shoulder without looking back as he slipped from the door, leaving Alan sitting in the empty room, wondering what had happened.

_-x-x-x-_

Placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose Alan stared at the old arcade from the front seat of his car. Sam's bike was next to a lamp post out the front, he wouldn't have arrived much earlier than fifteen minutes ago.

Tapping the steering wheel he checked the time, he'd been sitting in the car for five minutes now, not wanting to break the flow of memories, not really wanting to go in and disturb what he hoped was a cathartic experience for the boy. But of course Alan wanted to be there, in case something went wrong, in case Sam needed him.

It had taken years for his feelings for Flynn to ebb and fade away, it had been hard at first, watching the newlywed couple, so in love flit about his everyday life, in the office, invited to dinners, turning up at his door step, turning to him for advice. He had wanted to distance himself, but Flynn had dragged him into his life, made him a permanent fixture, and suddenly he was the Godfather of Sam Flynn. The baby boy with the largest blue eyes and cutest snub nose.

And so he'd directed all that frustrated love into this tiny creature that could no more reject it nor accept it. It just was.

He was Sam Flynn's protector.

One night before he had disappeared Kevin Flynn had come up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, smiled a smile that was too old for him and looked him in the eyes.

"You're just like him. Thank you."

Five days later he'd disappeared.

Alan never found out what Flynn had meant by that cryptic comment.

_-x-x-x-_

Kevin Flynn, Encom Protégée, the User, the Creator, the False God and Missing Father. The names had flown over him twisting and changing who he had thought himself to be. Or maybe the names had changed to fit who he had become.

Removed from the glowing grid as he was, he could still feel its hum in his veins. Kneeling, eyes closed, breath loose on his lips, the source floating up and caressing his skin where he sat, brushing the loose white fabric of his clothes, he let himself remember.

Quorra thought he meditated. Sometimes, very rarely, he actually did.

But most of the time, when he could no longer stare out past the wasteland at the towering bright lights, at the spot where the beacon used to shine, when he could no longer flip through the delicate and dusty paper pages and could no longer stand to stare at the chess board, he remembered. Each memory was categorized, pixilated and put into place.

Life before the Grid, Dillinger and the MCP, meeting Tron, returning, Sam, the rebuilding of Encom and the nurturing of the new Grid. Tron again and Clu. Jordan's death, Sam's tears, Alan's shoulder, Tron's comfort and Clu's devotion. Then it turns dark, darker than he had thought possible. The betrayal, the purge, the exile.

But each moment, no matter light or dark, is positioned carefully in his memory and in turn brought out, the data examined, relived and analysed.

He still has trouble remembering Clu's betrayal and Tron's death. Oh, he's analysed the events that led up to it a thousand times, tried to figure out how he could have stopped it, how things could have been different. What if, what if, what if circles behind his eyelids.

It's a mantra that parodies the zen he's suppose to feel.

But the actual event, the memory that is sharp and hard has him shying away, watching it from a distance. He can never look at it too closely, flits over Clu's challenge, the surprise he felt, Tron's hand on his shoulder.

Time hasn't dulled the heavy pause, the last look Tron shoots him as he turns.

"Go."

The whirr of disks.

Stark orange against black.

He remembers the sound of everything shattering.

His heart wrenching.

His legs burning as he runs and keeps running, city lights fading behind him.

Nothing had felt real.

Sometimes he doesn't know if he just can't stand to watch those memories, or if he really hadn't been present in that moment. It had all seemed so surreal at the time.

But he does dream.

And his dreams feel more real.

And Tron is still alive.

He doesn't sleep, sleep here is impossible, the bed in the other room he keeps as a familiar reminder of an old habit, from a past life.

But when he's so deep in his own mind, when all the memories have been loaded and reloaded over and over, his mind shuts down, it goes on standby, and he feels like his old computer back home. Screen goes blank, and the circuits and motherboard fizzle and crack as the machine cools down, the hum of the grid flows through him freely keeping him attached, but only just.

"I dreamt of Tron." Quorra's presence drags him back to the world. He keeps his eyes closed so she can't see how much it hurts. It's been cycles since he last dreamt of him. The youthful face had looked up into his own, years younger and less grizzled. They'd shared a hopeful grin while strolling through the streets, Flynn had thrown his arm over Tron's shoulder and they'd walked comfortably side by side. The Creator producing neon butterflies for the young programs that trailed after them and Tron's laughter bouncing happily off the pavement.

Half memory.

"I miss you." He'd whispered in Tron's ear and the other had turned in confusion.

"But I'm right here." A smile and a warm comforting hand on Flynn's shoulder.

"Please don't leave." He'd found himself saying, half afraid this dream figure would dissolve into a nothingness and he'd be left alone again with nothing but regrets and memories. He'd wanted to hold onto that moment for as long as possible.

"I'm not the one that always leaves." Tron had pointed out as his gaze dropped.

Flynn hadn't quite caught the emotion that flitted and disappeared across the others face, here, there, then gone like the butterflies that no longer surrounded them.

The statement surprises him. It's a conversation he'd never had with Tron, the security program had never asked why he left, never complained why he stayed away for so long. But was always happy to see him when he returned.

"I have to go back." He'd half murmured. "Sam needs me."

"I know, but we need you here." Tron replied, without meeting his eye. This was a side of Tron he'd never seen. Flynn couldn't help but believe that this dream was something he had always subconsciously wanted to happen.

Why didn't Tron ever ask about Flynn's world? Why didn't he worry when he was gone longer than usual? Why didn't he ask him to stay? More than once Flynn had caught himself watching the younger man, catching the spark in his eyes, the smile on his lips. The program _had_ to have an emotional core, Flynn had seen the program develop, learn, improvise. Or maybe it was a pre-written code that Alan had infused the simple security program with, his friend had always had an interest with AI.

Tron had always been an enigma, even during Flyn's first time in the Grid. He'd looked up to the program, respected him - of course he'd been a little wary of the program at first. He had looked so much like Alan, the man who had stolen Lora from him, and when Yuri had turned up, cute and sparky in her skin tight outfit he'd felt more than a slice of jealousy pierce him.

But that had changed the longer he travelled with Tron, and when they defeated the MCP, when Tron had defeated it, it became a necessity to reboot the system and to reload Tron into this new grid. Because without Tron what was the point of returning to rebuild a new world?

But it was hard balancing the two lives, even with the time difference on the Grid, and so he'd created Clu. Tron had never asked about that either, and that had bothered Flynn slightly – did Tron ever think to differentiate him from his creation?

But he'd been too immersed in the power of creating, of raising buildings that touched the sky, of the heady feeling of life at his finger tips to let it bother him for long. He'd missed the caution with which Tron had first regarded Clu and the guarded conversation they'd had about the new program had never held much meaning with Flynn until it was too late. He'd brushed it off as Tron's natural encoded paranoia.

They were on top of the world, the three of them, and nothing could go wrong.

What did it matter if they sometimes didn't understand why he'd suddenly stop in thought, or when he'd let the excitement and pure joy rush out of his lungs in a loud whoop. That they'd shrug it off as User eccentricities – incompatible with their pre-programmed objectives.

He'd throw an arm around each programs shoulder and they'd traverse their perfect world, lights would flicker in their steps, growing brighter as they walked past. They were together and their laughter, their voices filled the void and soon other programs joined them, networks were established, a system created.

And if he found himself walking a little too close to Tron, their hands occasionally brushing, or if he leaned a little too close to converse with him it was just a little oversight on his part. After all no one was perfect.

Returning to the real world always threw him, the only thing that could stabilize him was Sam. His little Sam with his big grin and larger than life soul, with his tall shadow standing protectively over him. Alan Bradley, Sam's very own Tron, Sam's very own protector.

Flynn found it hard, the more he aged, the older he looked, the more he craved being back in the digital world, back with Tron. It scared him to look at Alan and see the years reflected back at him. In Alan he saw what Tron would look like if he aged at all, greying hair and deep lines of worry etched around his eyes.

But there was one thing that always comforted Flynn about Alan, he always wore his glasses.

There had been one night when they'd been younger in years, he'd turned and noticed how very much like Tron Alan had looked. He wasn't peering at him from behind rimmed glass, they'd been eye to eye, like he always was with Tron. Alan had muttered something about contacts and Flynn found himself blinking at the resemblance.

It would've almost been funny, him comparing Alan to Tron and not the other way around, if it hadn't stabbed him straight through the heart. In those clear eyes had been laughter, love and a gradual shift into worry. Something he'd never seen in Tron's.

It had made him want to tell his work colleague all the things he had wanted to tell Tron. All the emotions and feelings that had been building up inside him, things that a program just wouldn't understand. How could something so irrational, so illogical as love be explained to a program, when even he himself couldn't quite grasp how it had happened, what it meant.

But Alan wasn't and never could replace Tron. They looked the same but were completely different, like him and Clu; a difference that couldn't be measured or calculated. And besides Alan was Sam's very own Tron, whenever Flynn went to the Grid he knew he could trust Alan to look after his son and it was this trust that was something he would never jeopardise.

Even in this Alan would have understood him, love, emotion, feeling, all these abstract concepts that Tron would never be able to grasp. But it wasn't Alan that made his heart ache and no matter how much he wanted to tell the other man what he was doing, what was happening, he couldn't. That night when he'd stared into those clear eyes wanting to confess he instead spat out his wedding announcement and departed. At the doorway he'd demanded that Alan never wear contacts again, because if their eyes caught each other's it would have to be through a wall of glass. All those emotions he could see running through Alan Bradley's eyes would be syphoned through the thin lens and never be mistaken for Trons.

"There are no guests here."

He dismisses Quorra's words with that simple statement. Eyes opening slowly to take in the city before him. It no longer matters; Alan could no longer remind him of Tron, because he'd never see the other man again. And Tron, he'd never have to worry about the wrong words or wrong emotions surfacing, because the man, the program, no longer was.

_-x-x-x-_

Sam watches the old man's back, greying hair falling gingerly around the white collar of his outfit.

The man's words, rough and full of accepted sadness, hang heavy in the pure white room. So much tired emotion with no outlet in this slick and unaffected world, he seems so human and so old.

The way he'd spoken of Tron, of the dream he'd had, with a hint of hope, of longing for a better time, pulls at something in Sam's chest. He remembers the stories his father has told him, Tron had been the hero, strong, brave and loyal. To hear his dad talk of the man as if he was real...

It hits him here. That all this, all those old stories, all those old games were real.

It hadn't quite touched him when he'd stepped out of the arcade, it hadn't registered as he was dressed down by sterile faced women. The arena had thrown his body into gear while his mind still tried to catch up with what was happening. The light cycles had provided him with something familiar to grab hold of, and the rescue had swept him off his feet.

And now

Standing in a pure white room that holds the dark at bay with a digital screen, the city of the Grid a strip of light on the horizon, his father dressed in white - aged beyond years, on his knees and dreaming about a man that should never have existed...

Now it all clicks, connects.

It's all real.

And his father turns, astonished, to face him.

"Sam."

_-x-x-_

_-x-_

_To be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

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Tron: Connection – Chapter 02

_-x-_

Their conversation is jilted.

Sam's angry, Sam knows he's angry. But he's sad as well, heart wrenchingly, breath catchingly sad.

He's dreamt about this day for years, finally seeing his Dad again. Hearing his laughter, catching up on all the years he's missed out on, "Hey there kiddo, got caught up in some business, heard you're living in a shipping container these days. Man, and have you seen those iphone gadgets, came up with those jazzy little things in the eighties. Can't believe they've only been out for a few years."

But this isn't his dad. There's no laughter in his eyes, his lips pulled in a frown, his voice weakened, disconnected and without it's urgent energy. This is not a man he wants to recount twenty years of growing up to, and so he picks at his meal and attempts to answer the questions asked of him.

He tries to lighten the mood, to draw a reaction out of this old man in front of him, by telling him of Marv. No reaction. Dropping out of University. A raised eyebrow, but directed more at Quorra's inappropriate stressed laughter then at him.

A private joke about the yearly appearance he makes at the company. If his dad had been present in his life they could've laughed over it. The silence and unacknowledged joke just makes this numb feeling worse.

There's a stranger sitting across the table from him.

He stares at the plate in front of him.

Cuts the food up into tiny squares and wonders why programs need to eat at all.

_-x-x-_

The portal will close in about eight hours.

Sam tenses, they've got to get back. He can't get stuck in this machine for the rest of his life, he can't just disappear and never return.

Fear slips down his spine.

What would Alan think if he never came back?

That he just up and left, disappeared like his old man?

He remembers how hard it had hit Alan when his dad had disappeared, it hadn't been the first few days or even the weeks of waiting that had managed to destroy Sam's conviction in his dad. It had been the months, the years of not knowing that had eaten at the older man's soul. But Alan had believed in Kevin Flynn long after the world and even he had given up on the man.

He wonders if Alan would have the same faith in him.

"Tell me, what brought you here?"

The question triggers a memory of earlier that night; it's amazing how long ago it seems. The end of a long day soothed by Alan's calm presence winds its way into his mind. The way the man had berated him in that steady half praising half scolding tone of voice, familiar and unwanted. The friendly punch he'd gotten on the shoulder that had him leaping up from the couch, eager to get away from the touch. He hated being treated like the child Alan still thought he was.

Hated needing the older man, even now, when he tried to tell himself that he's old enough to let go of this growing fascination.

But what he hates the most is that conversations with Alan always lead back to his dad. The ghost of a man that isn't dead has haunted every moment he has had with his older mentor. Honestly the way Alan goes on about the missing man it wouldn't have surprised Sam if they'd been...

And that's where he stops the thought because it always burns. He is the son of Flynn, and that's all Alan will ever see him as, and that's why he avoids the man, doesn't answer that number and doesn't ever initiate contact.

The keys had been warm from the older man's pocket, the gaze directed at him heavy and full of something Sam hadn't been able to pinpoint.

"Alan got your page."He sighs, frustrated and angry at himself, angry at Alan who still sleeps with his dad's pager, angry at his dad for being this old man hiding behind a calm and serene facade.

"Clu sent that page." Flynn's voice raises, anger, emotion, worry, fear on the edge of his words and Sam sees a part of the man he used to know. It's quickly shut away but Sam knows his dad is in there somewhere.

That's all it takes. He'll save them both.

_-x-x-_

End of line.

Flynn grimaces at the appropriate name.

They're floating high above the city in a bar made of neon and code.

His feet touch the grid of light, he kneels.

Darkness.

He's come to save his irrational, illogical, and so very human son of his.

"Let's split man."

Zen was never his thing.

It 's another failed attempt at perfection, of trying to balance out his faults, the energy, the emotions, fast thoughts, radical explosions of wants, needs, hopes, dreams. But he's human. He'll never be able to adjust, to integrate into this stark, precise, unfeeling world; it doesn't matter how hard he tries to.

He's starting to feel more like himself and that scares him because it means he can now _feel_. And it's fear that's winding itself into his code, fear and love, regret and hope.

They're on the Solar Sailer, conversation flowing, catching up with an ease that's intimate and relaxed, the way it should've been. He's glimpsing small pieces of Sam's life, pieces that he's missed out on, but he was never far away - he can feel that in his son's words, in his very presence.

His parents, Sam's grandparents are dead, it doesn't come as a surprise but the age at which Sam lost his only remaining family does.

But he doesn't ask about Alan.

They're reminiscing and Flynn's taken back to when the Grid was flourishing, energy beneath his finger tips, life beneath his footsteps. It was his fault it all fell apart, a truth which he has finally come to realize, to accept.

That has always been his problem.

Never really seeing what's right in front of him before it's too late.

and Sam doesn't ask about Tron.

_-x-x-_

The arcade is dim, dusty and stifled, so different from the world he's just escaped from.

"Alan." Sam doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wants to pull the older man into a hug and not let go, tell him about seeing his dad again, about how much it'd hurt to know he was there all along. Clutch at the back of his jacket, press his face into his neck and just let go.

The end had come fast and hard.

He's gone. Kevin Flynn, his dad, is finally gone.

"You paged me?" The older man turns to him, standing at the other end of the arcade with slight confusion in his eyes. "Didn't know you knew the number."

"I need you." That's as close to a confession as he can get. "I need you at Encom at 8am tomorrow." He's made up his mind, he'll take back what's rightfully his, the gift given to him by his dad. He touches the disk hanging from around his neck and forces a smile at Alan, this stings more than it should, admitting to himself just how much he needs this man in front of him.

"You're chairman now." Sam knows that from now on he'll see this man every day, that with every meeting, every chance encounter in the hall, every drink over new plans to build a bigger, better grid this impossible fascination will continue to grow and consume him. But he knows he has to weather it out, that for his dad's sake, they have to work together, and maybe he's not afraid of re-connecting again with this man.

Sam looks directly into the blue eyes watching him curiously from behind rimmed glasses - meets the gaze face on and realises for the first time that he's the same height as Alan. It brings a genuine smile to his lips, it's been years since he's had the guts to look the man in the eye, but it's about time.

He wants Alan to understand he's different, changed, that he's ready to take on the responsibilities that have been given to him. Ready to face the world like a man and not like the lost child he's been for so many years. That he's not the son of Flynn anymore, but a person, an entity to himself, Sam Flynn.

He brushes past the older man, places a hand on his shoulder - voluntarily making the first move at connecting with Alan.

"You were right."

And he walks slowly out of the building forcing his footsteps to linger and his breath to remain calm so it doesn't seem like he's close to bolting.

Quorra's waiting for him outside, she looks cool and composed but Sam can see she's tense, can feel her tremble when she hesitantly climbs behind him on the bike, her arms wrapping around his waist. This new world is her new home and he needs her to feel comfortable, introduce it to her like she introduced her world to him. He kick starts the engine under him, it's a deep rumble nothing like the smooth whirr of the light cycle.

It's a feeling that anchors him to this world.

They're riding down the dark street and Sam can feel Alan's eyes on his back but he keeps his head down and keeps on going. They'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow morning but right now he owes this to Quorra and to keep his promise to his dad.

_-x-x-_

Alan watches the bike speed off its red tail light streaking the darkness.

Out of all the revelations that night the one that hit him the most was the dark haired girl.

One he'd never seen before.

That in itself hadn't bothered him, occasionally, very rarely did Sam dabble with relationships - it never lasted long. But for him to have brought her here, to the old arcade, to the very physical manifestation of Kevin Flynn's memory...

Maybe it meant something, maybe the boy was finally moving on. The thought should have lifted the weight off his shoulders, should have had him feeling relieved, but instead disappointment flared.

It should have been him that Sam took to the arcade; they could've both put the past behind them, moved on together. They'd been through so much, what would this girl know about the pain they'd both suffered?

Alan let out a harsh laugh at his own sudden bitterness. What was he? Some jealous teenage girl?

He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and walked over to his car glancing one last time at the arcade, the flickering lights highlighting the name under the dark sky. Flynn's.

Yes, he'd moved on years ago, still mourned the loss of his old friend, but it was with nothing but fondness that he remembered Kevin Flynn, and sometimes remorse. How would the father have reacted if he knew the man he had positioned to protect his son had suddenly found himself in an inappropriate dilemma?

He'd always loved Sam, but it was during the boys 19th birthday, when the cheeky youth had thrown himself against Alan's neck, sighed and demanded that the older man drink as well, his too warm chest pressed against Alan's back that he became aware of the thrills of awkward awareness running down his spine.

He'd pushed it off as being too uptight for his own good, and had sent the boy off with a firm scolding and had flirted outrageously with one of his co-workers the next day. He'd gotten laid but the dread that had lumped itself into his stomach had remained.

He'd stupidly fallen for the father; the same was not going to happen with the son.

He'd seen Sam less and less after that, the boy had moved into his own place and was living his own life, avoiding the strict parental figure that he'd become over the years. He appeared once or twice a year in Sam's life concerning the stunts the boy had started to pull against the company. They were becoming more and more outrageous and the more he pressured the boy to pick up the reins of the company the more it pushed him away.

Alan blinked at the green light turning red. He must've been sitting waiting for the stop light at the empty crossroads for the last five minutes. He sighed and waited for the light to change again.

He sighed, Sam had grown up quickly but still acted like a spoilt child at times. Tonight he had seemed different.

There'd been a gleam in his eyes that Alan had sometimes seen in Flynn's, like he knew too much, had experienced things not meant to be experienced. It saddened him a little, but then Sam had placed a hand on his shoulder and it had sent a spark to his heart.

It had been the first time in years that Sam had approached him.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

_-x-x-_

The air rushed into his lungs.

Light seared through him.

His code jumped.

Realigned.

He coughed.

He didn't need to breath.

He was a program.

"Tron!" A voice called and memories rushed back, images hammering into the backs of his eye lids.

He'd been walking with Flynn, arguing about the programs that had started to go missing.

The attack.

Clu.

Darkness.

Re-purposing, the re-writing of his objectives.

Blue and white twisting into orange.

Corrupting.

"No!"

He could still remember all that had happened. Someone had re-installed a corrupt version of him, everything he'd done was still written into his history, into his code. He panicked, he had to be de-rezzed, he had to be wiped from the system. He was a virus.

"Woah there buddy." A hand on his shoulder steadying him, a familiar voice.

His eyes focused on the weathered old man in front of him. Subroutines coming online.

"Flynn?"

"Welcome back." A grin. "To the new grid." A hand swept out over the darkness and Tron blinked, his system not quite catching up with the words. He was abomination, an infection he had spent years fighting against, how had he been allowed back into a new, clean partition? Weren't there any protective measures in this new world?

"Why am I _here_?" It had sounded hopeless and lost even to his own ears. Flynn gave him a confused look.

"To protect the Grid, man. Our new system."

"I can't." Tron stood, the grid under his feet lighting up and he stumbled back.

"New powers." Flynn grinned. "Alan upgraded you, gave you administrative access, you're almost as powerful as a User."

Something pulled at his stomach and Tron felt ill at ease.

"But I'm corrupt, I have all of my memories..." He trailed off, eyes catching Flynns surprised ones.

"Ghost memories." A whisper as the older man came closer, Tron too stunned to move away from the inquisitive stare. They were standing too close and Tron swallowed feeling uncomfortable though he could find no reason with the system scan he kept running.

It kept coming back clean.

He wasn't infected.

There was no re-programming in his history banks. Only what he could remember - and how was that even possible?

And what of these strange reactions he kept getting? Like his code was on fire as Flynn stood too close, clear, sharp, gaze watching his every reaction. He shifted from one foot to another although his databanks told him it wouldn't help with this new situation.

A laugh cracked through the silence. Tron staggered back as Flynn whooped.

"Alan, you bastard! You did it!"

"Alan-one was born in wed-lock." Tron frowned at the inaccurate data the User had cried at the sky. The term had been one Flynn had taught him very early on and he prided himself with keeping correct definitions of User terminology.

"AI. Amazing." Flynn was up in his face again and Tron frowned, feeling... feeling annoyed? It was a similar feeling to when a scan came back incomplete and he had to re-run it again. Flynn had tried to explain it once when he'd been unexpectedly snappy one day.

He'd later uploaded a dictionary subroutine onto Tron's disk, trying to teach him about Users, things called emotions that seemed to dictate Flynn's moods and objectives.

"You're not providing me with sufficient data. Why am I here? I can not protect the Grid, I have already failed once, malfunctioning programs should be de-rezzed."

"No, no, Tron don't you understand?" The man had taken Tron's hands and was trembling with excitement. "You shouldn't remember, they rebooted a clean copy, upgraded you, but Alan must've been messing with AI even back then." A laugh and Tron found he liked Flynn with the beard, the lines around his eyes deep with joy, so much more expression on an already expressive face. He felt a strange flutter in his heart, it was similar to the one all those years back when he'd first met Flynn, it was the very first defect he'd been able to pick up on in his own coding. It hadn't affected his work so he had never brought it up. Other defects he noticed had allowed him to complete his job faster and easier, he realised he was able to process requests not specific to his pre-programmed duties, he was able to improvise - a concept he didn't understand until Flynn had spent half a day trying to explain it to him. He also seemed to possess a skill that Flynn called 'damned intuition'.

He was brought back by Flynn giving his hands a little squeeze with a chuckle

"You're processors a little slow today."

Tron frowned down at the clasped hands, something felt off, Flynn's outer parameter caught on the edge of his scan and the reading pulled the shocked words from his lips.

"You're not a User."

"Ah." Flynn withdrew his hands quickly, laughter falling from the air. "No. Not anymore." A half grimace. "Just another programme like you." He smiled. "Well maybe not, I think we might be one of a kind." A wink and Tron found himself swallowing, another unnecessary action followed by another unfamiliar feeling.

This would take some getting used to.

"A little nervous are we Tron?" Flynn gave him a cocky grin head tilted to the side like he knew what Tron was feeling.

The bastard probably did.

_-x-x-_

_-x-_

_To be continued_

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_-x-x-_

A/N: I've struggled and edited and turned this thing upside down trying to get it to read smoother. I had a lot of trouble getting through those last few movie scenes (and totally skipped the whole climax) but it's done! Huzzah! Now onto newer adventures!

I've gone back changed a few things in the first chapter and condensed the first two chapters into one like they probably should have originally been.

_Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts and who your favourite character is out of the movies/games!_


	3. Chapter 3

_-x-_

Tron: Connection – Chapter 03

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Sam sat back from the screen the grin on his face stretching wider as his back popped and shoulders cracked.

The I/O nodes were online, communication with his father and the grid was now possible.

It had taken weeks of hard work, of holed up in the labs trying to get the systems all online and working again, of Quorra staring wistfully out the window as the sun rose and set and days stretched into a blur.

He'd felt bad about keeping Quorra cooped up as they wove the code of this new world together as they tried to breach his dad's disk and pull apart and build a new platform from which they could work. The old Grid had been fried by the internal power surge so Sam had booted up his dad's disk on a new, large, faster drive.

He'd asked Alan for a backed up version of Tron, the man had given him a strange look before handing it over without question. The older man had popped in every now and then, adding his upgrades to the program, setting up counter measures and security protocols at Quorra's insistence.

Sam had wanted as little contact with Alan as possible.

Especially since that first day. The first morning back at the company had been rough, the hierarchy of the company had been challenged, board members shifting in their seats. The meeting was messy, raised voices, confusion, accusations, denials and outright rejection. But there was nothing the other members could do, they could keep their jobs and their positions, accept Alan as their chairman and accept Sam as their new boss or they could walk.

They'd lost a few of the older board members but Sam had almost sighed in relief when Dillinger Junior had crossed his arms, a look of distain on his face but nodded in acceptance. That guy was going to come in handy latter.

Next had been the awkward meeting in Alan's new office. They'd stood around the table Quorra staring out over the city in amazement and Sam avoiding Alan's eyes not sure where to start while the older man had leaned against the desk looking slightly amused at the dark haired girl.

"That could've gone better. So whose you're new friend?"

Sam had shrugged at the statement, ignoring the question and looking at his sneakers.

The silence was ragged around the edges.

He'd swallowed painfully.

"Dad _was_ there." He'd run a shaking hand through his hair and looked up into Alan's stunned eyes.

"Just sitting there. Dressed in white. Like some fucking Zen monk." The laugh he'd tried to force out broke into a half-sob. He'd fought to keep hold of himself as Quorra stared at him with wide unreadable eyes, studying him and Alan watched in confusion, stepping forward uncertainly.

He'd taken a step back not wanting to fall into the familiar security that he'd often sought from Alan when he'd been younger. This was a new beginning and he didn't want to mess it up, he had to tell the man all that had happened, everyone on equal ground.

"You wouldn't have believed it." He tried starting again.

"Just like the stories dad used to tell. The grid, disk wars, light cycles." He'd had trouble trying to relive the memories, they'd all come up on him so fast, but Quorra was at his side, hand at his elbow. "And he'd been sitting there for twenty years."

Quorra's light chuckle had broken the tension.

"The Creator couldn't sit still for more than 50 microcycles."

Alan had stared at her and Quorra had stared back, nose lifting slightly as if to challenge him and Sam had smiled. Here was the confident girl that had saved his ass back on the grid, she'd been a bit shaky after her first night in this world, the sun rise had left her dreamy, silent and withdrawn and the commotion of the meeting had left an unsettled frown on her face.

"This is Quorra. She's the miracle."

Alan had looked confused and Sam let out a bark of a laugh before the story spilled from his lips.

At the end Alan had looked pale, unsettled.

"Kevin Flynn, you total utter arse." The first words out of the older man's mouth hadn't been what Sam had expected or the tears being held back behind the glasses. There was this raw pain that Sam had never seen before and it bit into him that his father could pull such a reaction out of this man in front of him. Alan had stood, swept past both he and Quorra without another word and Sam felt his heart plummet to his feet.

"Well that could've gone better." Sam had echoed the man's earlier words and Quorra had tilted her head slightly, analysing him like she'd been analysing this new confusing world.

"He'll come back, he's your Tron."

"Huh?"

"When I first met the Creator," It still brought a smirk to his face when he heard his dad get called by that name. "He told me about Tron, about the program, the adventures and all they accomplished. But he told me more when he forgot to speak, when he'd sit and remember. That same look on his face - like it was painful, but he still did it anyway, because he needed to have Tron there next to him even if it was just in his memory banks."

"Wait. What?" Sam shook his head, that wasn't possible.

"That's why the Creator stayed behind, this world wasn't his anymore, you'd grown up and didn't need him anymore and Tron... Tron was still there."

He remembered all the stories his dad had told him when he was younger, the stories about Tron. He just remembered the exciting parts when they'd been fighting bad guys or the quick thinking that had saved his Dad and the security program from de-resolution, or the promise his dad had made him to take him to the grid, nothing stood out from his childhood that would have suggested anything more serious between his dad and a program. Was that even possible?

Of course there'd been sadness when his Dad had talked about the betrayal and the death of Tron but nothing that sounded like anything more than losing a friend.

But then Quorra had spent the last fifteen, twenty years with his dad, he tried reasoning with himself. He filed it under a subject he needed to give more thought to.

Quorra's connection slowly slide into place.

"What? No. Alan is not my Tron." Sam silenced the slice of panic, had she read his emotions that easily?

"He protects you."

Sam shook his head. "Not anymore."

"He's loyal and he cares for you."

"Yeah, but he's always been like that. It doesn't mean anything."

"And he looks at you, his eyes flash like the Creators when he remembered Tron, it's different from when he remembered you." She had smiled at his sceptical look. "Emotions. Programs don't have them, so I learnt them from the Creator; they're so subtle I had to study closely, it's your eyes, they give you away."

Sam had felt himself blush, annoyed.

"Fine. Whatever. But don't tell Alan."

She nodded.

"I won't."

Sam had been avoiding the man ever since. Conversations with Alan about his time in the Grid had faltered before they'd even started and any mention of his dad brought the pain back into his chest. It was stupid really, he saw how disappointed and confused his silence made Alan but he couldn't help it.

It hurt.

_-x-x-_

"Mr Bradley!" The voice caught him in the hallway and he turned in time to see the look of despair on Quorra's young face. It flickered before disappearing as she stopped to catch her breath, it looked like she'd run all the way from the re-instated Laser bays.

"You alright there? You know, I told you to call me Alan."

"Mmm" she nodded suddenly nervous, fidgeting in the pencil skirt and heels that she'd started wearing since her second day at the company. She straightened herself as if pulling in the confidence and sass he'd seen her possess, trying to project a quiet confidence in her new attire. The leather jacket and black skin hugging pants had been replaced by smart business apparel as she tried to fit into this world, into _Sam's_ world.

The thought brought a frown to his face, but he only wanted Sam to be happy and Quorra made him happy. They were often found talking animatedly, quietly together, heads bowed close to the computer screen, Sam would be laughing, happier then he'd been in years and whenever Alan would walk in it would always fall quiet, uncomfortably so. The fingers would still on the keyboard as if waiting for a command.

He'd be left standing there silently forgetting why he'd come in the first place, Quorra would ask him something or comment on their progress and he'd feel grateful for her input at the same time as irritated at her for putting this expanding distance between him and Sam. It was a poor excuse and he knew he, himself was the reason there was a stretched awkwardness between them.

He'd thought that working with Sam would be exciting, energetic, powerful, they'd re-connect over old times, spend time together forging a new future for the company, changing the world one program at a time. It had been something he'd been trying to achieve for years, trying to convince Sam to come and take Encom back, but now... Now he found himself alone in his office for most of the time, a chairman with little to do but stare out over the city view, all the menial work was done by others and he only needed to check up on the major projects from time to time.

His only comfort was Tron. Extracting pieces of information, rebuilding and developing his software. The AI program he'd been messing around with in his youth had yielded interesting results and it was these integrated codes that he now revised, researched and spent most of his time studying.

He allowed the program to fluctuate in the new environment Sam and Quorra had given them, keeping steady tabs on his progress. The self-awareness of his simple security program seemed to be increasing at an exponential rate, spikes of unusual un-programmed activity, almost like emotional reactions to situations. It was fascinating following it.

It made him wish there was a way to enter the world Sam had told him about, visit the place Quorra called home, see where his old friend had spent years waiting.

"Mr Bradley?"

He'd been lost in thought a little too long and Quorra's nervousness had turned to impatience.

"Alan." He smiled at her encouragingly, holding out an arm. "Walk with me and tell me what's the problem. Flynn's not acting up again is he?"

"No, they've been active and online, but no trouble so far." She responded sincerely, a concerned look falling over her face and Alan assumed she was considering all possibilities for glitches and program errors.

"I meant the other Flynn. Sam."

"Oh." She he lips twitched into a knowing smile. "He's always troubled." They continued walking in silence as Alan waited for her to elaborate, but it seemed she had given one of her direct answers again. She had answered the question truthfully and to the point without the need for this extra information that humans seemed to crave.

"Not working too hard I hope? Eating alright?" She stared at him with her dark wide eyes.

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Ah, you know I can't." He grimaced. "Last thing he wants is another lecture from me."

"You're right old man." Sam was leaning against the doorway of his office, confident smirk on his face. "Lived over twenty years with that, don't need you babysitting me anymore."

"Well you should take better care of yourself." Alan couldn't help provoking and Sam laughed as he pushed himself off the wall. This was one of the good days Alan thought, they'd banter back and forth until one of them pushed too far and Sam would fall into a sulk and slip away quietly leaving Alan to feel like he'd said something too close to the truth or someone would interrupt and Sam would remember himself and fall silent, withdraw.

"Who needs lunch when you're the best programmer this company ever knew?" There was bait in that question and Alan refused to bite. It was something he always used to call Flynn senior, but he wouldn't bring the man up now, knew it'd push Sam the wrong way.

"Can't live off code alone." He countered back, feeling like they were skirting something big, something neither wanted to acknowledge. It felt like walking on eggshells and he hated it. They'd have to have a talk, not now, but later, Alan could tell by the energy the other two radiated that something was up. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he ushered them both into his office.

"The I/O nodes are active."

_-x-x-_

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_To be continued_

A/N: Sorry for the re-load I wasn't able to edit the first chapter (after days of trying to figure it out – the live preview worked but the actual new chapter never uploaded). It makes me want to cry, you guys had given such awesome feedback and amazing reviews.

And no Tron or Flynn in this chapter - sad face - but they'll be back soon!


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